


a sun so intentional

by unveils



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vaginal Sex, and like 40 percent robo porn, like 60 percent good ol gay bonding, slow burn that's not actually that slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveils/pseuds/unveils
Summary: If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch, he would’ve given them some short and sweet spiel about purpose, justice, and duty -- the American way, and the way America will inevitably screw you if you don’t keep it straight.Nobody asks, but he’s got the speech tucked into the back pocket of his jeans all the same, neat and tidy; sanded edges for eyes that gaze too hard.He figures the Shimada kid understands that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> don't you hate when something starts off as a porn fic but winds up a character study with porn instead... anyway, i'm warm for these kids. overwatch took over my life so fast! 
> 
> for this fic's existence we can thank both noah (curse on ao3 / also answers to mcgenjifucker666) and my favorite mccree, anna, for both being so routinely fantastic and inspiring and just genuinely great people. go wish noah a happy bday if you can! title, if you're wondering, is by camille rankine. 
> 
> enjoy! ♡
> 
> [2018 edit: just a heads up - this was written before it was canon that genji & mccree were in blackwatch together, so it'll read more as an au than anything else]

If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch, he would’ve given them some short and sweet spiel about purpose, justice, and duty -- the American way, and the way America will inevitably screw you if you don’t keep it straight.

Nobody asks, but he’s got the speech tucked into the back pocket of his jeans all the same, neat and tidy; sanded edges for eyes that gaze too hard.  

He figures the Shimada kid understands that.

People actually _ask_ the Shimada kid.

The thing about Jesse is, he’s not stupid. He may talk a little funny and stuff his boots with spurs that jingle like a Christmas parade on stealth missions, but he’s not _stupid._ He knows what they say about the youngest Shimada, what any right-minded person would.

But that’s the other thing about Jesse.

(And he can hear it now, even after all the years past, even now that Gabriel’s gone --

“It’s ‘cause you’re hardheaded, kid. You make your own mind up about shit.”)

So the first time they’re alone in the practice range, Mccree makes his way up to Genji, spurs jingle-jangling, and he introduces himself good and proper, a slight tip of a hat and a ‘howdy’ to go with it.

 

 

//

 

 

If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch, it certainly wouldn’t have been for this. It’s stupid, he knows, careless, to get involved with teammates. He’s seen what happens in the field when bullets are whizzing faster than you can count ‘em and you don’t have time to keep track of anyone but yourself. He’s seen it, and he doesn’t need it, doesn’t want it, can’t deal with it -- not again. 

The thing about Jesse Mccree is, he’s not stupid.

But there’s this thing about Genji Shimada, too. Thing like sleek metal plates that curve bright when he rolls, smiles for miles in the way he’s all grace, a thousand grins without the eyes to show for it.

Mccree’s sweaty by the time they get back to the kitchen area. He can’t remember the last time someone wore him out in the practice range by just throwing shit across the room. He likes the ache in his bones, the way it makes him feel the good kind of twitchin', itchin’ deep in his fingers for Peacemaker.

“Takin’ that mask of yours off might help with your public image, darlin'.”

Genji pours himself a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove and sits with it until it cools, not once moving to drink. Mccree can see the smile all the same though, in that gentle slump of the shoulders.

“Perhaps one day, Cowboy.”

 

 

//

 

 

If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch, he might think of Deadlock. Of Blackwatch. Of good men long lost to a war that was never their own to fight, and of the ghosts that haunt the bodies left behind.

No one asks.

 

 

//

 

 

They spar on the weekends -- learn movements from each other, among other things. Genji Shimada is not the enigma that Jesse once thought he was, but something altogether new -- a silent laugh through the delightful dip in his shoulders, a filled teacup never sipped, and a swift slice of a sword.

If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to predict that the youngest of the Shimada clan would be an answer.

 

 

//

 

 

It’s a Thursday when it happens, the inevitable.

Mccree’s mouthin’ something about how Genji’s _cheating_ , wiping the sweat from his brow when he hears the sharp click of metal plates sliding against each other. It’s swift and soft, but maybe Mccree’s been waiting for it, so it’s not all too hard to miss.

Genji’s face isn’t soft, isn’t beautiful -- it’s scarred, a handful of bleeding white wires running deep underneath the skin where smooth should be. Mccree’s mouth drops, he knows it does, but he steps forward all the same, because Genji’s smiling, and that’s --

Genji Shimada is not the enigma that Jesse once thought he was, but something altogether new -- a smirking kind of smile, a knowing kind of smile, a welcoming kind of smile that crinkles heavily at the edges of his eyes and beckons Jesse closer, closer.

It’s Mccree that makes the first move -- pushes their lips together right there in the practice room, covered in sweat and half out of armor. Genji is as swift as he is in the field, twirling backwards towards the exit until all Mccree can do is hope to catch the tail end of the the swift green of Genji’s ribbon trailing towards the bedrooms.

If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch -- hell, it’d have had nothing to do with this, but there are new truths to be found in every reenactment.

 

 

//

 

 

Genji’s -- electric, the only way to describe the way he’s half cold, half hard, all sleek and grace and a thousand ways that make Jesse feel like a live wire is sweeping right through him. Mccree’s got his mouth between Genji’s thighs the second Genji pushes back down against the bed with that eyebrow cocked, with that smirk in his shoulders (on his face -- on his _face_ , now), sucking heavy between his thighs that’s leaking something synthetic and clinical but sweet at the same time.  

If Mccree had expected anything here (and it’s not like he _had_ ), it’d have been the polite and respectful, quiet kind of grace that he’s known from Genji since he joined the team, but this is different, this is -- quiet, controlled gestures that has Mccree shuddering underneath him, beard soaked through. This is Genji’s fingers in Mccree’s hair, pulling hard and whispering above him, something entirely his -- “ _Good,_ ” but not for Mccree. And _hell_ , Jesse’s had selfish partners in bed -- too many to count, too many seedy mattresses in bumfuck 66 -- but that’s not this, this is something else, this is Genji taking for himself, taking and giving, something that makes Mccree  _ache._

There’s a warning, there, before Genji comes -- an unabashed moan, Genji’s fingers tightening to the point of pain in Jesse’s hair -- but all the same, Mccree’s heavy and hard in his jeans, palm pressed against himself and ready for the way the slick slides down his throat, sticky and wet.

When he’s finished, Genji settles back against Mccree’s bed, cheeks burning red and a lazy, smug smile on his face. Mccree’s hand doesn’t still, just as Genji makes no movements to help him with it -- just lifts a hand to swipe through the mess on his chest, neon and stark against his fingers, and lifts two fingers to Mccree’s mouth.

That’s all it takes for Mccree to come -- the taste of it without any tremble on Genji's part -- to shudder over against Genji’s hip and fall into the hands that card through his hair, softer this time.

 

 

//

 

If someone asked Jesse Mccree why he rejoined Overwatch, he would’ve given them some short and sweet spiel about purpose, justice, and duty -- the American way, and the way America will inevitably screw you if you don’t keep it straight.

But he supposes things change, after time.


End file.
